Surprises
by leavinghope
Summary: Sally Donovan knows that Mary Watson isn't who she pretends to be and is determined to bring her to justice. But can Sally also bring John Watson and Sherlock Holmes back to each other? A sequel to "Through Closed Doors", but it can be read as a standalone.
1. Her First Vow

Sally Donovan faced down obstructions and cut through webs of outright lies until she successfully arrived at her current location. Now she waited patiently in the sparsely furnished antechamber while the dark-haired woman with the professional, yet lethal, demeanor knocked on her boss's door on Sally's behalf.

"Yes, Anthea, what do you want?" Mycroft Holmes' voice sounded both exhausted and enraged.

Anthea entered the room, leaving the door ajar. "Sir, there is a Sergeant Sally Donovan here to see you from the Met."

Sally overheard a truly Holmesian sigh. "I really don't have time right for this right now."

"But, sir…"

"Did you not return her calls following my explicit directions to make her go away?" Mycroft's diction was becoming more clipped as his frustration was getting the best of him.

Anthea was standing where could Sally see her, and the sergeant was impressed by her confident body language in the face of Mycroft's anger. "Of course, I returned her calls following your instructions to the letter."

"Then she has wasted a trip." Then Mycroft asked. "How did she find me in any case?"

Anthea smirked. "She is a detective, sir."

Sally imagined Mycroft's eyes performing a dismissive eye-roll at Anthea's insolence. "I have nothing to add to the official investigation into my brother's shooting."

"But, Mr. Holmes…"

"Send her away!" Mycroft's voice had risen to a shout. Sally would have been able to hear him clearly even if the door had been completely closed.

Anthea pushed once more. "Mr. Holmes, if you would grant me the courtesy of allowing me to explain why I announced her presence against your expressed wishes, it would be greatly appreciated."

Sally held her breath. Mycroft's response to his assistant would reveal a lot about his character. She heard the man exhale deeply, and then he said wearily, "Please accept my apologies. I'm not at my best today."

"Completely understood, sir." Sally was gladdened to hear the warmth in Anthea's voice. The prickliness of Sherlock's personality was shared by Mycroft, as was his apparent ability to inspire loyalty in the people close to him.

"Well, then, if you have forgiven my rudeness, I'm listening."

Despite the seriousness of the message she was about to give, Anthea seemed amused. She cast a quick glance towards Sally before saying, "Sergeant Donovan says that she has some information on, and I quote, 'the woman who goes by the name of Mary Watson née Morstan'."

There was a pause, then Mycroft spoke. "Exactly those words?"

"I did say 'quote', sir." Anthea smiled towards Mycroft.

"You are dangerously close to insubordination today." A hint of fondness crept into Mycroft's tone.

"Just as you prefer, sir. Shall I let Sergeant Donovan in?"

"Yes, please. And some tea?"

"Of course."

Anthea walked back into the antechamber, but raised a hand to halt Sally's movement towards the office. "I know Mr. Holmes shares many abrasive qualities with his younger brother, whom he loves dearly. However, he is in pain today. I will put a stop to your audience in the most unpleasant of ways if you cause him more."

Sally appreciated her forthrightness and instinctively liked Anthea. She nodded. "Understood."

Anthea indicated that Sally should follow her into the office. "Sergeant Donovan, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft rose from behind his desk and met Sally to shake her hand. He waved towards the chair in front of his desk. "Please have a seat, Sergeant Donovan."

"Thank you." After Sally sat down, she said, "I'm sorry about what happened to Sherlock."

Mycroft settled back into his chair. "I've been under the impression that you are not a fan of my brother."

"I don't need to be a fan to wish this hadn't happened to him."

Mycroft inclined his head in acknowledgment of Sally's words, but did not speak.

Sally continued. "I spoke to him briefly in the hospital earlier."

"Did you?"

"I interrupted a discussion between him and Mrs. Watson. I also turned his morphine drip back down to a less lethal dosage once she left."

Mycroft startled almost imperceptibly, but Sally had been observing him closely and did not miss it. To cover his distress, Mycroft grabbed a pen on his desk. She waited for it to snap under the pressure.

"Thank you for looking after him."

"I don't pretend to be his best friend, but I don't want him dead either."

Mycroft tilted his head and looked Sally directly in the eyes. "Why don't you like Mary Watson?"

The question surprised Sally, but she took it seriously. She was a detective, and her personal feelings did not play a role in how she treated her suspects. On the other hand, Mary should not have ever been under suspicion, given her role in John's life. So what had tipped Sally off? Finally, she answered, "She's manipulative."

"How so?"

Sally did not owe the man across from her any answers, but she decided to humor him. "The very first time I met her, at a crime scene, she tried to manipulate me to get John away from Sherlock. She claimed that John did not really want to be there, but was trying not to hurt Sherlock's feelings. I don't like someone who tries to play me, especially when I'm on the job. Made me feel something was off about her."

Sally hesitated, thinking about how to phrase her next words. Mycroft impatiently prompted, "Go on."

"It felt like Mary had compiled a portfolio about me. _Sally Donovan, hater of Sherlock Holmes. Push these buttons to trigger desired response_. Like she had an agenda."

"How did you figure that out when the rest of us did not?"

Sally settled back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "She was acting on old intel. My feelings about Sherlock before he fell, not after I witnessed his return and how much he's changed."

"So why didn't Sherlock notice?"

"He was also acting on old intel… That she had what it would take to make John happy, not having seen who John was without Sherlock."

"And what finally solidified your conviction that Mary Watson isn't what she seems?" Mycroft's eyes narrowed, but Sally did not flinch under his scrutiny

"When I arrived at Sherlock's hospital room, she was alone with him. She kept saying that Sherlock shouldn't tell John something, using a threatening tone of voice. And yeah, the elevated morphine drip, which Sherlock confirmed she adjusted, was just the final piece."

"Hmm… It's not like her to be so sloppy."

 _Wait, what?_ "You mean you knew who she was and you still let John marry her?" Sally was appalled. This was completely unexpected.

"The woman you know as Mary Watson is well-known in the international community to be a quite capable assassin. She's a freelancer and has long been left on her own in case she might be needed for a government's use when they cannot go through official channels. However, a few years ago she dropped off the map, and we had reason to believe she was either dead or no longer active."

"Well, you were wrong."

"Obviously. But at least this way, we knew exactly where she was."

Sally did not attempt to hide her anger. "How could you risk John that way?"

"I was hoping it would keep him away from Sherlock." Mycroft did not wilt under Sally's furious gaze.

"How could you do that to the two of them?"

Mycroft placed his palms flat on the desk before him and leaned towards Sally. "You have no idea, none, of what my brother went through in his time away. And it all happened because of his feelings for John Watson. And when Sherlock came back, with delusions of a happy reunion, John stayed with that woman. He still married that woman. Do not try to tell me that they have been good for each other."

"But they have been. John was withering away without Sherlock, the few times I saw him during those years. I know Lestrade considered a suicide watch for some time. And Sherlock? You've seen how much more compassionate he's become. Any changes John wrought in Sherlock have only been for the better."

Sally observed the silent man across from her. Much like his brother, he dressed to create an impression. In this case, his grey three-piece suit with its subtle pinstripe expressed wealth and ease in his position. He wore a ring on his right hand, but displayed no family photos or anything else indicating a personal life of his own. Perhaps the man before her knew love and loss and only wanted to protect his emotionally fragile little brother.

Sally's suspicions were justified when Mycroft reclined back in his chair and sighed. "I know. I just wish John did not have the power to hurt him so much."

"Right now I'm more worried about how much Mary has hurt Sherlock. John is the only one who can help him heal." Sally took a deep breath and then voiced one of her biggest concerns. "With your brother's history and his latest apparent relapse, the reliance on pain medication…"

Mycroft cut her off. "Trust me, I already have doctors working up a plan."

"It won't work if John isn't one of those doctors."

Mycroft stared steadily at Sally. "It is quite possible that John Watson has never been more in danger in his entire life."

"Agreed."

"Because of Mary Watson's past, you'll need to pass a security clearance check in order to be involved in this investigation."

Sally rolled her eyes. "Please, your assistant probably drafted an entire file on me as soon as I left my first message for you."

"She is rather thorough." Mycroft noted approvingly, though Sally could not tell if his approval was aimed at her or Anthea. "I hope that I can count on your cooperation to help bring this matter to its appropriate resolution."

Anthea entered the room with a tray. As tea for three people was laid out on the desk, Sally wanted to make herself completely clear. "I have no regrets about the role I played leading up to your brother's disappearance. I saw inconsistencies in that kidnapping case, and I pursued them. Turns out the inconsistencies were planted by Moriarty, but they did exist. I'm a damned fine cop, and Sherlock's disregard for the rules jeopardizes our ability to make our cases stick, you know? I owe him no apologies, and we'll never be best friends. But what's happening to him and John now? That I will do anything in my power to help fix."

Mycroft glanced up at Anthea, who nodded at him. She then took a seat by the side of the desk and stirred milk into her tea. Both looked towards Sally. With his elbows on desk and chin on steepled fingers, Mycroft said, "Let's do this, shall we?"

Sally smiled.


	2. The Waiting Game

The assembled group was sitting quietly in a conference room at New Scotland Yard. The only sound breaking the silence was the tapping of Mary's foot on the floor, and Sally could sense the agitation simmering underneath her polite veneer. John sat next to his wife, a grim expression on his face. Sally was at one end of the long conference table with Greg and Molly at the opposite end, and Sherlock sat at Molly's side. That placed him opposite John and Mary. Not that he seemed aware, Sally noted. Sherlock kept his gaze fixed towards the table. John periodically sent a furtive glance in Sherlock's direction and his left hand repeatedly clenched and unclenched on the table before him.

Not for the first time, Sally wish she knew what really happened at New Year's. All she knew was Mycroft had been completely caught unawares by the Moriarty broadcast, and it brought Sherlock out from wherever he'd been hiding since Christmas. Sally had her suspicions about that. Sherlock was shot in Magnussen's office. Magnussen was found dead with a bullet in his head mere months later. Sherlock performed a disappearing act immediately after. The evidence told a pretty clear story. But Magnussen had deserved whatever form of justice that ultimately caught up with him, in Sally's opinion. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, she would have wanted the courts to have their say, but she understood power and how it worked. As she observed a subdued and gaunt Sherlock, whose fingers occasionally twitched, she wondered if he had ever wielded power and distributed justice with a gun before.

The tapping of Mary's foot grew louder until she eventually exclaimed, "Will somebody please tell us why we're all here?"

As she spoke, the door opened, and Mycroft stepped in. "I'm here to do that now."

Mycroft sat in the one remaining chair next to Sally. "Earlier this evening, we implemented an operation to determine the origin of the Moriarty broadcast. We have good reason to think we'll be successful within the next hour. But just in case something goes wrong, I wanted all of you to be somewhere secure." Mycroft raised a hand to forestall Sherlock as he began to speak. "Mrs. Hudson is with her sister, and I have surveillance established to ensure her safety."

Sherlock nodded his appreciation, but otherwise remained quiet.

While Mycroft spoke, Sally made certain her phone was muted and unlocked in her lap, ready for any update on tonight's mission. She also watched Mary, who had tensed up and placed her hands over her swollen middle. Sally hoped she wouldn't go into labor before the night was over, because she suspected this would be a particularly stressful night.

Greg broke the silence, asking jovially, "How will we pass the time?"

"How about we all talk about our first loves?" Mary smiled at the whole group, gesturing to her stomach. "I mean, you're all stuck with me for the long haul. We might as well get to know one another better. Sherlock, did you want to start?"

 _That manipulative…_ Sally interjected. "I'll go ahead."

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this." Greg rubbed his hands together.

"Hush, boss. It's nothing that salacious, I assure you." Sally leaned back in her chair. "His name was Thomas. He was the brother of a friend of mine. Handsome, rugby player, you know the type." She smiled at the memory. "He had absolutely no idea who I was, but my crush was unmistakable. Passed notes, flower on Valentine's Day. All those silly things I did. I just remember he treated me kindly, although he had no interest in me. Not a bad lesson to learn early."

"Too bad you don't stick with it." Lestrade shot a pointed look at Sally, obviously referring to her affair with Anderson.

"Sometimes you don't want love, just have an itch that needs to be scratched. No shame there. But since you're being all judgmental, how about you go next?"

"You've met my first love. Jenny, my ex-wife."

"Really? You were together that long, old man?"

Greg threw a paper clip at Sally. "Yes. It was our problem, actually. What works in your teens doesn't necessarily work in your forties. It was lovely in the beginning. She was the smartest girl in school, beautiful, talented and clever. Got married in our teens, though. Way too young. Our early years together were great, and I have two beautiful children because of it. No regrets here."

Greg nudged Molly with his elbow. "Your turn."

"His name was Isaac. I met him in a hostel in Vienna during my gap year. It was a whirlwind few weeks of beer, sex, and clubbing." Molly blushed as she looked around the room. "Glad I got that out of my system early."

"And you, John?" Mary prompted John in a teasing tone. "What daring tale of romance first led you on the path to me?"

John swallowed, obviously not happy to be a part of the discussion. "You really want to know?"

"Of course." She leaned against him. "Will I be jealous all these years later?"

Sherlock hunched his shoulders forward. Sally wished she could give him a hug and was surprised by the impulse.

"Alright, since you asked." John paused. "I don't think I experienced love as a young man. Yeah, love came a bit late to me, certainly later than the rest of you. I met someone, loved them, and lost them. Easy as that." John slapped his hands on his thighs and straightened in his chair.

Mary's mouth thinned, and her eyes hardened for an almost imperceptible moment. Sally would have missed it if she hadn't been carefully observing Mary all evening, waiting for any slip in her facade to show nervousness about the pursuit of Moriarty. But very quickly, the bubbly personality of Mary Morstan came back into play.

"Well, I fell in love early and often. You know how it is, growing up in London. So exciting. So many people to share adventures with."

Mary continued, mentioning a first love in school, another greater love in uni. Spinning lies came so easily to her. John looked vaguely ill at her side. Greg mistook the reason for John's discomfort. "Getting jealous, mate?"

"No, not at all."

Mary bumped John's shoulder with her own. "John knows everything he needs to about my old loves. He has nothing to worry about."

Sherlock shifted in his chair, looking for all the world like he desperately needed to escape. His movement drew Sally's attention, and she almost missed Mary slipping one hand down to her thigh while bringing up her other hand to rest on John's shoulder. Sally leaned back to grab her own purse, slung over the back of her chair. By leaning back, it allowed her to see Mary thumbing the screen of her phone. Sally reached in and pulled out a tissue, but not before hitting a pre-programmed button on her phone with her other hand, a signal for Anthea to run a trace on Mary's phone while actively being used.

Only Mycroft and Sherlock had not shared their stories. Wanting to spare Sherlock, Sally asked Mycroft. "So, Mr. Holmes, have you ever been in love?"

"Of course."

Sally was not the only person stunned. Greg asked, in a wondering voice, "Really? What were they like?"

"I met her at a conference in the States. I was there on government business and could not be completely honest about who I was, at least at the beginning. She was brilliant, a physicist. Intelligent and charming. Normally, I do not find myself tempted by romantic dalliances. But she was different."

Sally noticed Sherlock was contemplating his brother carefully. Molly asked Mycroft, "What was so different about her?"

"She surprised me."

Mycroft and Sherlock made eye contact and gifted each other with rare smiles of understanding. Mycroft continued, "My brother and I see so much upon a glance. Do you know how attractive it is, the not knowing all the time? A glorious feeling of anticipation. It was love at first sight, both the seen and unseen."

Mycroft twisted the ring on his finger. It was a simple gold band, discreet and elegant. Sally had always assumed it was a family heirloom or a token of a secret society, but now she wondered if a Mrs. Mycroft Holmes existed, present or past. "What happened?"

"We both had decisions to make." After that cagey response, Mycroft grinned in a way which invited no more questions.

Just as Mary was about to pounce on Sherlock, Mycroft's phone rang and Sally's tone buzzed with a text. She looked down. _Got her_.

Mycroft talked into his phone. "Yes. Thank you. We'll address the matter further at a later time."

Sally had only been privy to one part of the night's operation, the trace on Mary's phone with its non-standard security algorithms. But she suspected the search for the source of the Moriarty broadcast had truly been another part. "So, what happened?"

"It was exactly the perpetrator Sherlock and I suspected."

Sherlock and Mycroft burst into laughter.

"Care to let us in on the joke?" Mary sounded distinctly unamused.

"Yeah, who was it?" John directed his question to Sherlock, but Mycroft answered.

"Mummy."

"Your mother?" Greg voiced the disbelief most of the room was feeling.

Sherlock spoke for the first time that evening. "Our mother is a brilliant mathematician. She was able to leave academia early to raise Mycroft and me because she wrote the algorithms underlying much of our nation's security protocols. How else do you think I was able to hack into the mobile networks during your dreadful press conferences? I was taught by the master."

Mycroft interjected. "But quite frankly, the crudeness of the video marks the pinnacle of our father's home movie capabilities."

Sally could not believe she was watching Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes dissolving into giggles.

John shook his head. "Seriously, your mother?"

Sherlock replied, "Yes. My parents live off of the money her patents and classified algorithms bring in. Haven't you ever wondered how they afford their square-dancing adventures in Kansas?"

"To be fair, I didn't even know you had parents til a year ago."

The bitterness in John's tone was matched in Sherlock's response. "I am human, John, just like anyone else. Or have you forgotten?"

John clenched his jaw, and Sherlock folded his arms over his chest. The two men looked anywhere but at each other.

Sally's phone vibrated in her hand. She surreptitiously scanned the screen. _Yes, our mother. Also the trace on MW's phone worked. The two are not related._

Mycroft stood up. "I will inform our team Mrs. Hudson no longer needs protection."

In a rare gesture, Sherlock said, "Thank you."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and stepped out into the hallway.

"Well, I guess I can get back to work now." Greg seemed in no hurry to get up from his chair. Molly teased him. "Did listening to us bare our souls tire you out?"

"I must admit, I wouldn't mind hearing more about the adventures of gap year Molly."

"I don't have to go back to work tonight. I could walk you to your office, keep you company until you're called away."

Sally watched as Greg and Molly leaned closer and smiled sweetly at each other. It had taken long enough for the two of them to get together, to the point Sally had almost arranged a blind date or something equally horrifying for them. And now it had happened, Sally was hopeful it would last.

"Ahem." Sally exaggeratedly cleared her throat.

Greg made eye contact with Sally, who said, "Get going. I'll lock up, boss."

"Thank you, Sally."

Molly added, "Good night, everyone." The couple clasped hands and left the room.

John, Mary, and Sherlock remained in the conference room with Sally. The tension was palpable.

Sally fired off a quick text to Mycroft. _Come back soon._ Then she moved around the room, tucking in chairs and throwing away the sundry bits of paper and wrappers left behind by the gathering. The others in the room remained silent, until Sherlock stood and moved towards the door.

"Sherlock, don't think I'm letting you get away without telling your story."

Sherlock halted at the sound of Mary's voice. "And what story would that be?"

She smiled brightly at him. "Have you ever been in love?"

John sighed. "Mary, leave him alone."

"Don't you want to know the answer, John?" Mary's eyes never left Sherlock's face. Sally watched him struggle to maintain eye contact with her.

John said, "I already know the answer."

Mary startled and looked at her husband. "You do?"

Sherlock responded, "John thinks I'm incapable of love, Mary. Surely you have noticed that."

Now it was John's turn to be startled. "That isn't what I meant. I've seen you in love."

Sally stilled all of her motions, not wanting to disturb the moment.

Sherlock looked at the floor. "And when would that have been?"

"The Woman. Irene Adler."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "That was not love, John. That was fascination. You, of all people, should know there is difference."

"Of all people?"

Mary interrupted before John could pursue that thought any further. "So, answer the question, Sherlock. Have you ever been in love?"

"Yes."

Mary pushed on. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." Sherlock grabbed his coat from the rack next to the door, obviously trying to put an end to the discussion.

Mary struggled to stand. John stood up and helped her out of her seat. Sally was just about to announce she would arrange transportation for them when Mary asked, "Why not?"

For a moment the room was completely silent. Sherlock closed his eyes and gnawed at his lower lip. Finally he shook his head, opened his eyes, and stared directly at Mary, as if challenging her to react. "He was not gay."

Sally heard John's slight gasp, but Sherlock in all likelihood missed it as he put on his coat. Mary rested her folded hands on her stomach and said, "Oh, poor Sherlock. Did it hurt to have him choose someone else?"

"Oh, you know me so well. Perhaps he dodged a bullet?"

Sally was poised to intervene between Sherlock and an increasingly hostile Mary when Mycroft appeared in the doorway. "Come along, Sherlock. Time to chastise our parents."

Sherlock swept out of the room without a parting word. Mycroft nodded at those remaining. "Doctor Watson, I have requested a car for you and your wife. And thank you for your assistance, Sergeant Donovan."

Sally tipped her head in acknowledgment and gestured for Mary and John to follow Mycroft out of the room. Sally switched off the light, only to find John standing in the dark. In the dim light filtering in from the corridor, she could see his eyes were unfocused, oblivious to his surroundings.

"John." She spoke softly, not wanting to alarm a combat veteran.

"Oh, sorry." John ran a hand through his hair. "Got lost there for a second."

Sally smiled. "No worries. It's a lot to take in." She chose her words to be purposely ambiguous, but she suspected she knew the revelation that had surprised John the most. "Let's get you home, shall we?"

"Home." John huffed out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right."

As Sally locked the door behind her and accompanied John over to his awaiting wife, she hoped he would not have to wait much longer to return to his home.


	3. The Sign of Two

The building in Clapham was fairly nondescript. Not at all the sort of place where people would have predicted a human trafficking would operate, business signage and clerical workers and all. But Sally and Greg had followed Sherlock's lead, and now they were gathered in an office suite interrogating the employees left behind when the head bosses had attempted to bolt. _Attempt_ being a key word here. Sally was going to enjoy the triumphant pain of her bruises for a week, and John had pulled out a pocket med kit to attend to the cuts on his and Sherlock's hands after the successful apprehension of their suspects.

But these suspects had money and power and excellent legal representation. Getting substantive evidence from the disgruntled and frightened employees, as well as physical documentation from the scene, was crucial to making their case stick. Greg was supervising the gathering of material evidence while Sally was overseeing the various interviews. She especially kept an eye on Sherlock's interactions. John remained at Sherlock's side during the questioning of the workers. He had a proven track record of having an ameliorating effect on Sherlock during these situations, but today it was John himself who seemed agitated. Sally noted Sherlock glancing at John frequently during the interviews, an unusual departure from Sherlock's usual focus.

John jolted and reached for his phone, buzzing in his jacket. "Sorry, but I have to take this." He immediately fled into an adjoining office.

Sherlock looked at Sally, silently asking her permission to leave the interview and follow John. She nodded and waved to Officer Tobias, who had been listening in, to continue the questioning.

Greg raised his eyebrows and tilted his head towards Sherlock and John's location. Sally shrugged at him. Then she quietly followed their path to the office, close enough to see and hear their whispered conversation through the door, which they had left ajar. She positioned herself such they would not be likely to notice her.

"John, what's wrong?" Sherlock made no effort to hide his concern.

John leaned against the wall, steadying himself.

"John, please, what was that phone call? Is everything alright with Abigail?"

Sally could barely hear the bitter laugh escaping from John. "Abigail is fine. It's just…"

"Just what?" Sherlock prompted John with a softness Sally had never suspected him to be capable of.

"She isn't mine." John's voice broke.

 _How awful._ Sally could not prevent a gasp, her stomach roiling with sympathetic nausea.

After a few false starts, Sherlock managed a single word. "What?"

"She isn't mine." John heaved several deep breaths. "I ordered a paternity test a week ago. She isn't mine."

Sherlock made a confused querying noise. John explained, "Remember when Abigail was sick? At the hospital, the doctors ran a lot of blood work. Looking over it, I saw results that didn't add up. She was healthy, thank God, but I couldn't shake a bad feeling. So I asked an old colleague to use one of her blood samples for the test."

Sherlock tentatively moved closer to John. "I didn't know you had done that."

"That was the point. I didn't want anyone to know, especially not Mary."

"But I don't understand. She had you. She loves you. Why would she do this to you?" Sally knew Sherlock's bewildered tone was genuine. Sally was shocked as she realized Sherlock had honestly not considered the possibility of Mary betraying John in this way. His love for John was so pure, leaving him stunned by Mary's infidelity.

John, however, did not suffer such delusions. He continued in a beleaguered manner. "Only Mary knows why she does the things she does. Certainly not me." John sighed. "We had never even discussed having children, you know. One of the reasons I had no clue she was pregnant until you announced it at the wedding. I hadn't been looking for the signs."

"But you were so happy to become a father."

"I was, wasn't I?" John's mouth twisted as he struggled to compose himself. "I'd never really considered it, but once it was reality, I was thrilled. I guess it was never my reality, though, was it? Nothing about Mary has been real."

"Will you tell her you know?"

"I don't know yet."

"Because you can all still be happy together as a family. Mary loves you, and you love her."

John finally showed some anger, but Sally was surprised to see it was directed at Sherlock. "You think I still love her? After what she did to you? How could you possibly imagine that I could still love her?"

Sherlock took a step back, obviously reeling from John's anger. "But you forgave her. You went back to her."

"An assassin was carrying my child. Of course, I went back to her. I had to protect the child. I had to protect you!"

"Me?"

"Who knows what Mary would have done to you if I'd left? Can you honestly say to me that you would have been safe if I'd returned to Baker Street? If she didn't get her way? And what about the child? I still don't know what to do. Abigail might not be mine, but is she safe with Mary?"

Sherlock raised his hands in a calming fashion. "I understand wanting to protect Abigail, but I can take care of myself."

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare, Sherlock. You still don't get it, do you? Protecting you is what I do. It is my privilege and my pleasure. You've still never figured that out, that you took that away from me in those years you were gone. I've seen the scars on your back, Sherlock, and every single one of them is my fault. My shame. Because I wasn't there!"

Sherlock barely stopped shy of a shout. "But that was the point. I had to protect you. I can choose pain for myself. That is my right. But I would never choose pain for you, John. Despite what you might think after everything that's happened, I've never wanted to hurt you."

Sally stilled all of her motions, not wanting to reveal her presence, as silence fell over the two men.

"Look at us both." John took a deep breath and then smiled weakly up at Sherlock. "We are a mess."

"I've never claimed to be anything else." Sherlock moved closer to John, and together they leaned side-by-side against the wall. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. She might not be my child, but how can I leave her with Mary or whoever she is? I don't want to abandon an innocent baby. Abigail didn't ask for any of this."

"And you truly don't love Mary anymore?" Sherlock's voice betrayed a rare moment of vulnerability. Sally almost felt guilty to witness it.

John answered the question immediately and without prevarication. "I only ever loved who I thought she was, and that person died when she tried to kill you. I've tried, you know. At the flat, I try to be pleasant, and I even tolerate Mary coming along on some of our cases, although those are the rare few times I've had with you recently. I just don't know if I can keep this up for a lifetime when I can barely look at her over the dinner table."

Sherlock tentatively cupped John's elbow in his hand, and Sally saw John relax into it. "I just want you to know, I will be here for you, and I will support you in whatever you choose."

As Sherlock dropped his hand, John reached down to clasp it. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You stay with me, alright?"

"Always."

John shot a quick glance at Sherlock before looking down at the floor again. "And you'll get rid of that scruff on your face. What the hell is that about anyways?"

Not for the first time, Sally noted Sherlock's increasing thinness, his unusual amount of facial hair. This was a man whose health, both physical and emotional, was suffering, but he deflected for John's sake. "Shaving is boring."

John shook his head. "No. You're just not taking care of yourself. I need you to take care of yourself. I can't do it for you right now. Okay?"

"Okay, John."

"And that stunt on the tarmac? Never again."

Sherlock hesitated, clearly not wanting to lie, but not wanting to tell the truth either. Eventually, very gently, he said, "It wasn't a stunt."

"Jesus." John rubbed his free hand over his face. "Whatever it was, and don't think I will avoid talking about it forever, you can't do it again. You can't leave me."

"I won't leave you, John. Never again." Sherlock continued to hold onto his hand as John performed the sort of inhalation and exhalation pattern taught to thwart panic attacks. Eventually his breathing calmed enough for John to speak again. "I always knew this was a possibility. I kept telling myself not to get attached, that she might just be another one of Mary's lies. But I've thought I was her father for months. I already love Abigail so much."

"Me, too." Sherlock quavered, a sheen of tears appearing in his eyes.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand so much it must have hurt, but the two men remained silent. Once again, the moment was so quiet that Sally's muscles began to ache from her stillness. Then John cleared his throat and asked, "Ready to go back?"

"Take a few more minutes, John. The investigation can wait."

Sally shook her head in amazement at that open declaration of love. She backed away to allow the men some privacy, and she bumped into Lestrade.

"What's up?"

"It isn't my tale to tell. Suffice it to say, John received some bad news."

Greg asked, "Everything okay with the two of them?"

"Not right now, but I think it will be. Just give them a few more moments, okay?"

"Sure." He paused. "How about you, are you alright?"

In truth, Sally felt profoundly moved by the conversation between Sherlock and John and was not surprised it was showing. "Yeah. It's just that those two have been through so much."

"Sally Donovan, experiencing sympathy for Sherlock?"

She deserved any ribbing Lestrade gave her about Sherlock. "And John."

Greg nodded in agreement. "Ready to get back to work?"

"Just gotta make a phone call. Be right with you, boss." As Greg walked away, Sally thumbed open her contacts and hit "M".

"Yes, Sergeant Donovan?" Mycroft's immediate answer to her call made Sally wonder if he was monitoring the scene via CCTV.

"The doctor just received a phone call confirming his suspicions about paternity."

Sally could almost hear Mycroft's eyebrow rise. "I wasn't aware he had requested that test. I was going to have one performed, but my brother forbade me from interfering."

"That's because your brother is an idiot in love."

"Agreed." More affection than frustration tinged Mycroft's tone. "How is Doctor Watson reacting to the news?"

Sally glanced back towards the two men. Both were silent, hands still clasped together. "Concerned for the child's welfare more than anything else."

"Hmm, he would be. Give me your opinion, since you were there, should I instigate the extraction?"

 _About damned time_ , Sally thought. "Yes, you should implement Operation Devil's Hand."


	4. A Study in Dance

Sally smoothed soft shantung fabric over her hips as she surveyed the ballroom. She knew the snug fit of the dark blue sleeveless sheath dress was an attractive look for her, and the slit at the right knee afforded her the ease of movement she preferred while working, even if her heels were higher than she liked. Because despite the splendor of the setting, this was her job tonight - to be beautiful and blend into the crowd and apprehend the suspect whom Sherlock would identify.

 _Speak of the devil,_ she thought to herself as Sherlock approached with Molly at his side. The pink of Molly's chiffon gown matched the glow in her cheeks. Sally smiled. Molly and Greg were good for each other. Sherlock, on the other hand, appeared distinctly uncomfortable in his formal wear.

Sally leaned over and kissed Molly on the cheek. "I'm guessing that's how posh folks greet each other at events like this?"

Molly giggled. "You look wonderful. I mean, you're always gorgeous, but that dress really suits you."

"Thank you. You are lovely yourself." Sally then spoke to Sherlock, perfectly attired in black tie. "You look good, too."

"Please do not feel compelled to bestow trite compliments like the rest of the rabble here." Sherlock attempted to hide an annoyed tug on his tie with an imperious toss of his head. The motion drew Molly's attention, however.

"You're wearing a tie. I've only seen you wear one at…" Molly stopped short of mentioning John's wedding.

Sherlock kindly ignored her gaffe. "We are all playing our parts tonight. One does not wear rags when attending a gala raising funds for Her Majesty's veterans."

"So, Mycroft told you to wear a tie?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, signaling Molly was correct.

Sally said, "Well, we're here early enough to have a good view of everyone as they enter the room."

"Yes. Mycroft has secured us a table near the center. Shall we?" Sherlock raised his arm indicating the general direction of the table. As the three took their seats, a string quartet began quietly tuning their instruments at the other end of the room.

Sally contemplated the layout of the room again. "There will be dancing. That should allow us to mingle."

Sherlock harrumphed dismissively, and Molly asked, "Does Greg even know how to dance, you know, properly?"

"He most certainly should know how to dance. How else could he ever pursue an undercover investigation like this? How we as a society have arrived at this point…" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence, focused on the room's entrance. Sally and Molly turned their heads.

Captain John Watson was moving down the receiving line in his dress blues, cap tucked under his left arm.

Sally and Molly both turned back to Sherlock. Mouth slightly parted, eyes unblinking, he stared John.

Sally had never observed such stillness in Sherlock outside of a hospital bed. She stage-whispered at Molly. "Is he okay?"

Molly shook her head. "How would you feel if one of your secret teenage fantasies just walked into the room?"

"Secret," Sherlock blurted.

Molly placed a hand on Sherlock's forearm where it rested on the table. "Doesn't have to be a secret with us. You're with friends here."

With a pained expression and bowing of his head, Sherlock whispered, "Friends."

"Yeah, Sherlock, friends." Sally felt her heart break a little for him. "We are your friends, and no matter what has been happening recently, John will always be your friend."

"Yup. You can't get rid of us so easily, mate." Greg had approached without any of them noticing, and Sherlock startled at the sound of his voice. Catching Sherlock off-guard was almost impossible to do, a testament to his distraction. Sally knew seeing John in his uniform wasn't the only thing occupying Sherlock's thoughts. According to Greg, Sherlock and John had only been in limited contact since the raid where Mary was arrested. The father of Abigail had been located shortly thereafter, a naive pawn in Mary's machinations with Magnussen, and after clearing background checks, he had been granted full custody of the baby girl. John had moved into a hotel and had been refusing shifts at the clinic as well as cases with Sherlock. As far as Sally knew, this was the first time Sherlock had seen John in the several weeks since John had declared he needed time alone to work through his pain.

Sherlock understood pain. He understood being alone. But Sally knew Sherlock could not comprehend John being in pain and alone. His own frustration and loneliness had been clear at recent crime scenes. Sally was hopeful the case tonight would bring an end to this stage of John's grief and reunite the two men for good.

Greg sat down next to Molly, leaving the remaining open seat next to Sherlock for John. As a server placed flutes of champagne at each setting, Greg said, "It's good to see John out in the world again. You must be missing him, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave a single nod as a response and remained focused on the table in front of him. He reached out for his champagne, but his hand shook so he snatched it back again.

"You okay?"

Sherlock emitted a disgusted snort at the suspicion filtering through the concern in Greg's voice. Molly jumped in to defend him. "The only drug Sherlock is interested in at the moment is John in his uniform."

Greg laughed as Sherlock rubbed his temples in frustration.

Sally couldn't help but continue to tease him. "See the way he's walking over here?" Sally watched as Sherlock flitted his gaze over John before concentrating the table again. She continued. "That's a man who knows he looks good."

"Hello, everyone." John smiled at his seated friends. Sally was pleased to see the smile appeared genuine, unforced. "It's good to see all of you." John rested his right hand on Sherlock's left shoulder, giving a squeeze as he took the empty seat. Sherlock greeted John with a quick smile of his own, but did not say anything.

"We're happy to see you, too," said Molly, filling the silence.

Sally watched Sherlock and John seated together, decked out in their finery, and was struck by what an attractive couple they made. She obviously was not the only one, as Greg said, "I don't think I've ever seen you all..." and he waved his hand towards John's torso.

John tugged on his cuffs to straighten out his sleeves. "Mycroft suggested I break out the uniform for tonight's festivities."

"Mycroft." Sherlock muttered the name under his breath.

 _Oh, well played._ A suspicion formed in Sally's mind. A matching one flickered in Sherlock's eyes.

John gestured to the crowded room. "Now I'm grateful for the advice." He turned to Sherlock. "Not all of us clean up as nicely as you do."

 _Oh my god, is Sherlock blushing_? From the smirk on Molly's face as she looked at Sally, he definitely was.

"That's a lot of metal on your chest." Sally had to admit, although she knew John had been a military doctor, the sheer number of medals conveyed a different side of the man seated across from her.

"Never understood the sense of individual awards. None of us get through war on our own." John paused and shook his head. "I'm learning none of us get through life very well on our own."

Greg raised his glass. "To comrades in arms and in life."

The rest of the table toasted and sipped their champagne. The musicians commenced their first tune. "I recognize this, I think," said Molly.

" _Blue Danube_. Strauss." Sherlock sighed. "Banal."

John grinned and bumped against Sherlock with his shoulder. Sherlock chuckled in response. Sally sensed she was picking up a private joke between the two men. "Do you enjoy dancing, John?"

"Sometimes, Sally." John cast a fond glance at Sherlock. "Did you know Sherlock taught me how to dance for my wedding?"

"No." Sally attempted to picture Sherlock dancing. "Really?"

"Yes. I could never match his skill and grace, but I think I managed a decent waltz."

"Why a waltz?"

A complicated sequence of emotions chased each other across John's face - sadness and fondness and regret and pain and love. "Sherlock composed a waltz for Mary and me as a wedding gift and didn't want me to make a fool of myself in front of friends and family."

Sally envisioned the two men taking the awkward first steps of new dancing partners, one desperately in love with the other and trying to hide it, the other trying to hide from himself. "Did he succeed?"

"Oh, I made a fool of myself that day, to be sure." John then directly addressed Sherlock, sitting quietly at his side. "You know, I was trying to work up the nerve to ask you to dance with me, but you left the reception so quickly."

"It had been a demanding day for me."

John pressed on. "But you love to dance, and you left without dancing."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I couldn't stay any

longer."

The musicians proceeded to play a different piece of music. John took a deep breath, then pushed back his chair and stood up. He held out a hand to Sherlock. "May I have this dance?"

Sherlock blinked several times. He reached out and placed his hand in John's. Together they walked hand-in-hand to the dance floor and joined the rest of the dancing couples.

Sally took out her phone and took a photo of the dancing men. She fired off a quick text with the pic to Mycroft. _Really?_

"Hey." Molly nudged Greg. "Sherlock is following John's lead."

With the gruff affection he frequently displayed towards Sherlock, Greg replied, "He's been doing that since the day they met."

Sally's phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced down at it and started laughing. "You two should go dance. We are officially off duty."

"There's no case?"

"How can you tell?"

Sally replied to their simultaneous questions. "Mycroft just texted me the upcoming playlist for this evening. The next half hour consists of classical music, mainly waltzes. Then, after the musicians take a short break, they will perform, and I quote, 'frightfully popular music.' "

The three burst into laughter. As Molly regained a bit of control, she said, "Sherlock will have John out of here before halfway through the first song."

Sally nodded. "He was suspicious about this case as soon as he found out Mycroft urged John to wear his uniform."

"Hell, I'd shag John the way he looks tonight, too."

Molly playfully thwacked Greg in the arm. "Now, now, leave John to Sherlock."

Sally waved towards the crowd. "Have some fun. I'll sit here and pretend to still be on the case for awhile longer."

"You sure?" Greg's voice betrayed his eagerness to spin Molly around the dance floor.

Sally raised her hand and a server passed her a flute of champagne. "Yes. I'm fine just where I am."

Greg presented Molly with a sweeping bow straight from a Victorian romance novel. Sally laughed and Molly rose from her seat after mock swooning. After a few stumbling steps, Greg and Molly moved smoothly across the floor. Sally raised her glass to them and mouthed _Get him, girl_ at Molly, who blushed but gave a thumbs-up behind Greg's back. Sally watched as John danced with Sherlock, whose body language was melting from uncertain to relaxed. John reached up to whisper in Sherlock's ear, tilting his head at a nearby couple. Sherlock immediately launched into rapid-fire speech, making both men giggle within seconds.

 _No_ , Sally thought to herself, _tonight won't bring happily ever after to Sherlock and John_. There'd be dinner at Baker Street after the dancing, a takeaway from the same Chinese restaurant where they ate after John not-so-secretly-to-Sally shot the cabbie that night so long ago. John would likely even spend the night, in the room he once called his own and which Sherlock always kept ready for him.

A man at the next table smiled at Sally and lifted his glass in salute. _Mid-40s. South Asian. Born and raised in London. Divorced. Single. Not interested in something serious right now._ She nodded and smiled back at him, lifting her half-full flute in kind. _The night is looking up_. She sipped champagne and watched her friends, drifting across the dance floor and ever closer towards each other.


	5. The Full Heart

As Sally climbed up the seventeen steps to 221B Baker Street, she could hear Greg and Molly speaking to Sherlock in quiet, soothing tones. To reach the flat before her, Greg must have gone directly there from the disaster of a crime scene and had Molly meet him. She wondered how much Greg told Molly before they approached Sherlock together. From an external point of view, the case was successfully closed; a serial killer was behind bars tonight. Those involved knew capturing the serial killer had not only endangered John, but Sherlock had potentially sacrificed their friendship to save him.

"We'll hang out here for a while, okay? Just to be sure." Molly's upbeat voice was joined by Greg's grimmer tone, as he added, "We don't want you to do something rash."

 _Jesus, Greg, reminding him he's an addict is not going to solve anything._ Sally entered the sitting room to see Molly and Greg hovering near Sherlock, who was perched in his chair, knees drawn to his chest with head bowed and covered with his arms. "Alright, I've arrived to actually help Sherlock, not to make him feel even more like shite." Sally waved a small paper sack in front of her.

Sherlock jumped up and walked over to Sally. Greg narrowed his eyes, somewhat suspicious. "What is that?"

"This is how you help a friend with relationship problems." Sally glared at Greg before she handed the sack to Sherlock. "I stopped off for gelato on the way here. I picked two flavors: chocolate hazelnut and pistachio. I recommend eating directly from the container. There are spoons in there. I figured none of yours would be clean."

Sherlock seized the bag from Sally's hands and peered into it. He pulled out a container and a spoon and thrust the sack back at her. Very primly, he said, "Thank you" and flounced back into this chair.

Sally, Molly and Greg remained standing until Sherlock waved a hand towards the sofa and said, "Eat it before it melts."

The three sat down, Molly and Sally at either side of Greg. He held the container as Sally handed each of them a spoon. The three took turns eating, but otherwise remained silent.

Knees drawn to his chest, Sherlock shoveled chocolate hazelnut gelato into his mouth. After a few spoonfuls, he heaved a deep sigh. "You know, it's almost a relief to have it out in the open."

Molly responded, "I can imagine."

But Sally wasn't sure she could, that anyone who wasn't present at the crime scene could truly appreciate what happened. John on his knees, gun to his head. Serial killer suspect telling Sherlock to beg for John's life. Then the words, all of the unspoken words, spilling from Sherlock's mouth like a dam had failed and set the words free. _Please. He is the best man I've ever known. He is my hero. You have no idea what I would do for John Watson. What I will do. What I have already done. Because I love him. Since the moment I saw him and until my last breath, I love him. And you should hope the police show up soon because there will be nothing left of you for them to find later if you hurt him._

And Sally knew she would never forget the expression on John's face as he realized the sincerity of Sherlock's words. The fear of his situation dissipating into shock, dismay, regret. As the red laser dots finally scattered over the head and torso of the suspect, John reeled away from him and from the crime scene, leaving without a word to anyone. After Sherlock watched John walk away, he slumped to the floor, head bowed. He remained that way until Lestrade placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Then Sherlock had fled the scene as well.

Into the silence, Molly ventured, "I know it isn't how you would have told him."

"It wasn't my plan to ever tell him at all." Sherlock continued to dejectedly eat gelato.

"Why not?"

Sherlock stared at Sally as if she had just sprouted wings. "You cannot seriously be asking me that."

"I seriously am asking you. Why did you never want John to know how much you love him?"

"John is my best friend. The risk of ruining that was too much."

"Throwing yourself off a building in front of him and pretending to be dead for two years didn't manage it, mate. Don't see why loving him would." Greg followed up by scooping the last of the gelato into his mouth.

Exasperated, Sherlock said, "But doesn't that just make it worse? I've brought him so much pain. How could I add to it and expect him not to hate me?"

"Why would loving me make me hate you?"

John stood in the open doorway.

Greg, Molly, and Sally immediately rose, while Sherlock stayed in his chair.

Molly said, "We should be going."

"Yeah," said Greg, walking over to gather their coats.

"Let me just clean up and we'll be out of here." Sally slung her purse over her shoulder and then grabbed their spoons and container. Determining Sherlock was about to lose his hold on his gelato, she took it out of his hand. He did not appear to notice.

"Thanks, everyone. Have a good night." John smiled at all of them, and to Sally, he seemed genuine. Sherlock remained motionless, his expression somewhat lost.

As Sally went into the kitchen to toss the garbage, she heard Greg and Molly leave the sitting room. Sally entered the hallway through the kitchen door and noted the front door was ajar. She went to close it, but saw Molly's purse on the floor right inside.

 _Oh, shite._ Sally knew Molly would need her purse, but would not want to interrupt Sherlock and John. She paused outside the door, hoping for a moment to arise soon to snatch the purse and leave. She peered in. Sherlock was in his chair, with John standing in front of him.

"May I sit?"

Sherlock made no response to John's question.

"Okay. I'll take that as a yes."

As John dropped into his chair, Sherlock shot up from his. "I'm so sorry, John."

"You have nothing to apologize for Sherlock. Me, on the other hand…"

Sherlock circled the small room. "John, no."

"Sherlock, please. Let me finish." John stood and placed his hand on Sherlock's arm to still his pacing.

Sally could not see John's face, but the dread and anguish on Sherlock's were clearly visible. Her gut instinct told her Sherlock had nothing to fear, though.

Despite having his back to Sally, John's voice came through loud and clear. "Listen, it's taken me a long time to get here. But I'm here now. I'm here with you, Sherlock. If you'll have me."

"You will always have a home with me, John. You know that. You are welcome here at Baker Street. I just…"

"Just what?" John gently prompted him.

Sherlock stared down at the floor. "I rather thought my revelation this afternoon would have made you too uncomfortable to move back in with me."

John clasped both of Sherlock's arms. "Look at me. Please."

Sherlock raised his face. Sally held her breath.

"You think you hadn't shown me you loved me a million different ways since you returned? You think I hadn't noticed? Of course, I did. Of course. But I…" John inhaled deeply before he continued. "I had just started to get on with my life again when you came back, and I clung to Mary like an anchor to keep me from rushing back to Baker Street, to our old life together. Because I was angry and hurt, and I didn't trust you not to hurt me again. And you accepted Mary without trying to scare her away and planned my wedding and wrote a waltz, and I thought, well, maybe you were fine without me. Then Mary shot you, and you told me to go back to her. You killed Magnussen. You almost killed yourself, and you did it all so I could be happy in a life we both knew was a lie. And when the lie exploded in my face and I lost Abigail…" John stopped and moved a hand up to Sherlock's neck, his thumb caressing his jaw. "I saw how much you were hurting. All the sacrifices you'd made for me, and I didn't deserve them. I don't deserve you, Sherlock. You deserve so much better than a man who is more concerned with who he thinks he should be than who is really is. But you say you love me, and I'm grateful because I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love you. And if you want me, still, after all this, I'd be happy to come home and so proud to be yours."

Sherlock's eyes filled with tears and his face crumpled. "John?"

John responded by moving his other hand to cup Sherlock's cheek. "May I kiss you? Please, may I kiss you now?"

Sherlock swooped down to kiss John. The two men wrapped their arms around each other, the kiss deepening.

As her eyes filled with sympathetic tears, Sally took the opportunity to grab Molly's purse and very gently shut the door. As she turned towards the stairs, she almost stumbled over a pair of suitcases.

John Watson had returned to Baker Street at last.

Mrs. Hudson was at the foot of the stairs. She raised her eyebrows. Sally answered the gesture with a thumb's up. Mrs. Hudson clasped her hands together and looked fit to burst by the time Sally joined her.

"Really?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Both of your boys are home, for good this time."

"Finally." Mrs. Hudson threw her arms around Sally. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

Sally hugged the kind woman back. "Oh, I bet I can guess."

Mrs. Hudson stepped back and winked at her. "Sherlock was gone on John from the very first. He was just too stubborn to realize it."

Remembering the man Sherlock once was, Sally thought it was more doubt than stubbornness which prevented Sherlock from understanding what he felt for John. Doubt that he was capable of love. Doubt that he was capable of being loved. And how could logic have predicted John Watson? It wasn't until seeing John during Sherlock's years away, limping once again through his days, that she remembered the broken man he was when he first entered Sherlock's life. Neither man could have known they'd save each other, over and over again, from their first meeting.

But instead of all that, Sally said, "You're probably right, Mrs. Hudson."

"I'll prepare some of John's favorite dishes to welcome him back."

"I do not advise disturbing them any time soon."

"Oh, of course not. I figure they need plenty of food to keep up their stamina, and I doubt they'll be leaving the flat any time soon. I'll sneak some in if I think they've finally gone to sleep."

The wicked glint in Mrs. Hudson's eyes made Sally want to sit down and swap stories with her over good Scotch. "Sounds like you have a good handle on the situation. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mrs. Hudson."

Sally walked to the door, but stopped as she heard Mrs. Hudson say, "Don't think I don't know what you've done."

With some apprehension, she turned back towards Mrs. Hudson, but the older woman was smiling at Sally with unguarded affection. "My boys will never be able to repay you for all of your help."

A lump formed in Sally's throat, but she managed to push out the words. "No payment, no thanks are necessary. I just wanted to see things set to rights."

"Well done, my dear."

The two women grinned at each other, and then Sally walked outside. She claimed a table at Speedy's Cafe and ordered iced coffee. Then she made a phone call.

"Good evening, Sergeant Donovan. Congratulations on catching the killer."

Sally was not surprised the news had already reached Mycroft Holmes. She had called to settle his nerves about the details, after all. And to relay something else of extreme importance. "Thank you. I wanted to inform you Operation Redbeard has also concluded successfully."

There was a pause of uncharacteristic length. Sally was about to repeat her statement when Mycroft finally replied. "I saw John arrive at Baker Street on the CCTV. But because of a promise, I have no feed inside the flat, audio or video. I must admit, I had assumed there would be a negative confrontation."

"Let's just say they've finally had the confrontation they really needed."

"Splendid." Sally swore she heard a smile in Mycroft's voice. "Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Sergeant Donovan. I hope we will have the opportunity to work together again in the future."

"I'm not going to spy for you, Mr. Holmes."

"Pity."

Sally nodded at the server who brought her drink before saying, "But thank you for letting me help your brother and John. I know I don't owe either of them anything for Sherlock's time away and everything else that happened, but I'm glad I could play a role in getting the two of them back with each other."

"You'll be happy to know Mr. Dewan has passed my investigation into his background. Enjoy your trip to the Cotswolds next week."

"Oh, for fu…" Sally started, but Mycroft had already ended the call. After her initial outrage calmed down, she realized Mycroft in his own twisted Holmesian way had showed he cared about her. She shook her head. "What has happened to my life?"

Sally had barely finished her call with Mycroft before her phone buzzed. It was Lestrade. Sighing, she took a quick sip of iced coffee, knowing it was likely all she'd get to have. "Donovan here. What's up, boss?"

"Sorry to disturb you so soon, but a body has been found in Hampstead Heath. You ready to embark on another case?"

Sally rose from her chair. "You know it. Text me the location, and I'll meet you there."

"You have a car?"

"Nah, I'll take the tube, and you'll give me a ride back. Sound fair?"

"Works for me." Greg paused. "Do you think…?"

Sally did not let him finish. "No, absolutely not."

"But some of the details sound like…"

"No. We can handle a few cases without Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. You will not contact them for at least a week, or until you hear from them first. Agreed?"

Greg chuckled. "Who would have ever guessed you'd become so protective of Sherlock?"

"Well, no one is more surprised than me."

"I'll text you the exact location once I get there."

"Tell Molly I have her purse. You can deliver it when you go to hers tonight."

She could almost hear Lestrade blushing as he said, "See you soon."

Sally walked down Baker Street towards the tube station. She thumbed open her contacts on her phone and brought it back to her ear. "Akash. Yeah, it's Sally." She listened for a few moments. "It's made the news? Yeah, we got him." She paused. "Thank you. This part of the job is really satisfying. It's why I called, actually. I know we had a date scheduled for tonight, but could we reschedule for tomorrow? Another case has come up."

Her heart swelled at Akash's positive, warm response. _This might turn into something special, after all._ Sally stopped at the bustling intersection of Baker Street and Marylebone Road, wanting to finish the call before entering the station. She took a moment to appreciate the twilight beauty, the vibrant city and people around her. Sally smiled. "That's right, London needs me."


End file.
